


You're a weapon; and weapons don't weep

by jeanjosten



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Raven Neil Josten, The Perfect Court (All For The Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 17:15:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13345812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeanjosten/pseuds/jeanjosten
Summary: When Jean Moreau accidentally dies from Riko's hand, Nathaniel's world violently crumbles. In a place that doesn't allow grief and compassion, there isn't much he can do to get over Jean's disappearance—but blaming Kevin, that, he can do.“If I really thought Jean was in so much danger, I would have pulled him out of his hands.”If Nathaniel’s smile was bloodcurdling, then his laughter was even more terrible. “I’m not sure which of us you’re trying to convince there.” The pause was breathtaking as Kevin braced for violence. “A coward like you, Kevin—pulling my partner from Riko’s grip. Forgive me if such a sight is hardly believable to me.”He cackled, cruelly, pain echoing in his every breath—and Kevin could only watch, eyes hurt and guilt, swallowing back the anger to leave room for something more terrible. He held out a hand and gently grabbed Nathaniel’s wrist, with just enough force to beg him to listen. The touch made him shiver, but Nathaniel was quick to respond.“Kevin,” he smiled. “You would have killed him if he’d asked you to.”





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> [insert violent sobbing]
> 
> It's nothing, really, I just went through a fair amount of grief these past days and thought I'd take it out on fictional characters. Does that count as masochism? I mean, probably. wesniskids.tumblr if y'all want to throw bricks at me.
> 
> Just your average grief/blame three-chaptered fic for the feels, and the angst, and the _feels_.

Nathaniel didn’t know what it was. Perhaps it was the way he could hardly find any sleep when Jean wasn’t around, or perhaps was it the usual nightmares that lingered even when he was awake. Deep down, churning his guts to unbearable nausea, though, he _knew_ this was none of it.

He waited, waited patiently as he brought his knees to his chest, waiting for the door to fly open, waiting for Jean to come back. He couldn’t tell time as it passed, but it was undoubtedly late when he finally tore his eyes off the door, throat tight with something that tasted a bit like worry. It wasn’t something familiar, and it surely wasn’t something he liked—every breath screamed Jean’s name and he couldn’t hold back the shakiness when his hand reached out for his phone.

There, on the blank screen that left no unread message, Jean should have been back two hours ago.

          He never came.

***

By noon, Nathaniel was more than certain something was wrong with him. He’d been weak and distracted all morning, understandably so, but soon enough his absent-mindedness turned into sheer confusion, and he visibly baffled the other Ravens moving around him. Nathaniel, who mastered the art of trash talking on a court, didn’t even seem to register players calling out for him—be it for passes or for vile insults. Words ricochet on his body back to the void, unheard and uncared for, floating somewhere Nathaniel couldn’t quite get a grasp of them. His mark grew more and more troubled as minutes passed, noticing how little resistance he was showing as they collided with their usual, ruthless violence; and when Nathaniel shakily stumbled back, gaze heavy-lidded and mouth agape, the opponent finally came to a stop. It was like pushing a toddler around, and it felt insanely wrong, even for a Raven. It did help that Nathaniel had his reputation around, fierce and dangerous, something most of them hardly ever dared defy. Today Nathaniel’s fire had died down, reduced to a meek little flame, and the Ravens didn’t need to look any closer to know he was all but _there_ with _them_.  

Walking to Nathaniel was easy—trying to get through him was a bit more delicate. Outside the plexiglas walls Tetsuji and the assistant coaches were watching closely, uninterested in Nathaniel’s possible trouble, alternating between the two unmoving bodies of the rapid flock and the players passing the ball to each other for goal. Coaches made no move to pull him out and the Ravens knew better than to touch Nathaniel Wesninski without his consent, so they called each other out until the word got to Kevin. 

He turned, visibly irritated to be needed in the back when he was far up the court—but then—then he spotted Nathaniel standing still, face white with something he didn’t recognize and eyes just as sluggish as they would be after Riko’s treatments. Annoyance gave way to worry on his tight face, and he handed his mark both his racquet and helmet, knowing too well stopping the game without being asked would grant him the appropriate punishment, but unable to stay away. 

Jogging to where Nathaniel fought to stand still, Kevin neatly avoided the curious gazes lingering as he passed; and when he got close enough, he called Nathaniel’s name one, two, three times perhaps.

It was like reaching out to a dead animal or a dying body, and the tightness in Kevin’s expression only grew more anxious. “Nathaniel, can you hear me?” Nathaniel’s eyes flicked up, though with visible difficulty, but they didn’t seem to _see_ Kevin where he stood barely two feet away. “Can you play?” He asked, knowing he’d get his attention easier if he asked the right questions. Nathaniel’s usual fierce determination to keep playing no matter what had been crushed in a breath, and where he should have met instant resistance and Nathaniel’s worn out attempts at convincing him he was fine, there was only confusion. 

“Okay,” he mumbled, as if accepting the problem. “I—Kevin I need you to listen carefully. I think I’m going—I think I’m going to pass out.” He couldn’t tell if the ground shook underneath his feet or if he was dangerously getting wobblier, but something definitely felt off. Suddenly his eyes were unfocused, searching for an anchor he couldn’t find, and everywhere around him he searched for Jean. Perhaps did he stop holding onto consciousness with such determination when he realized Jean wasn’t here, and grief hit him so brutally he couldn’t breathe.

Next thing he knew he was crashing down hard, knees giving up on his weight, thoughts going haywire as he lost the last bits of consciousness. He couldn’t tell what he thought about exactly when he fell to the floor, his brutal fall intercepted in extremis by Kevin’s strong arms; but he was hot, unbelievably so, burning from the inside like a devastating fever. Muscles went slack and eyes closed, and he barely registered his own skull falling against Kevin’s chest.

***

Neither Tetsuji nor Riko could force Nathaniel to play when he couldn’t be jolted awake, so the team nurses dragged him to the nursery and laid him there. Nathaniel woke up to the sickening black walls, and fear punched his guts hard when he realized he was still in his gear—yet far, far away from the court. It was wrong, insanely so, and he could only imagine Tetsuji’s reaction to him missing practice. It didn’t matter why, or how long; _missing_ was _missing_ , and the consequences of it remained the same no matter what.

He jumped off the bed but weakness hit him a little too violently, sending him back against the mattress in a wordless breath. He checked his palms, touched his forehead, and patted down his ribs to attest the damage, but he was as familiarly sore and bruised as usual, and he couldn’t feel the pain of broken bones anywhere. 

“What happened?” he asked a nurse when she appeared in the doorframe, alarmed by the move. Kevin would never be allowed to miss practice, certainly not to stay at Nathaniel’s bedside, that much Nathaniel instinctively knew—but it still hurt to wake up alone, surrounded by the invasive presence of team nurses he didn’t like and didn’t trust. Foolish to say he trusted anyone, and he swallowed dry when he realized the only person he’d willingly given every bit of trust he had wasn’t there anymore. _Jean_ , he thought—and something cracked so hard it could be seen on his face. 

Though the nurses were highly competent, they couldn’t do much for psychological issues, much less at Castle Evermore where their intervention were restricted and unnecessary; even unwanted, from Nathaniel’s part. Surely there was something terrible in stepping up the court with a broken rib or a bloody nose, but Nathaniel held more consideration for his place among the Ravens than he did his own sake. It didn’t matter if he was sick or bruised or broken, he’d go there and play, and he’d do so terribly well nobody would ever question his number three. They had no choice but to let him go—but by the time he strode to the inner court, the Ravens were already scattering around, practice long finished, briefing barely ended.

All thoughts inevitably ran back to Jean, and he felt sick to his stomach as he searched for Riko and Kevin. Both stilled and spotted him right away—his auburn hair was a hard thing to miss, really, and they’d grown used to searching for him effectively: most of the time, it was better to know where Nathaniel Wesninski was before he’d go and put himself in troubles. Somehow, though their individuality was pushed to extreme limits due to the Raven mindset, the pair-based system and the four of them being brought up together had given way to a sense of collectivity—or perhaps, more accurately, to a sense of grouped punishments. Countless were the times Kevin and Riko—and Jean, too—had been beaten stupid for whatever impulsions Nathaniel hadn’t been able to control. Some he still didn’t bother getting a grip on, but a mouthy brat on the defence line was more than helpful, so they tolerated it. 

Kevin didn’t ask if he was okay, and he didn’t really try to check his potential injuries. Riko didn’t care, which was even easier. Kevin, however, though his face didn’t give away any hint, had always felt oddly protective towards Nathaniel, and it didn’t take more than a second for Nathaniel to recognize the familiar glint of worry in Kevin’s tired gaze. It was silently checking for damage, those he couldn’t visibly see, and Nathaniel turned away instantly. Oh he’d rather stare Riko down than to let Kevin in, even without words. Sometimes he felt as though Kevin knew him a little too well, way more than he’d have wanted him to anyways; that left no place for privacy, and it was, for such a secretive and harsh creature, almost unbearable at times.

“Why did you leave practice?” Riko asked, tone coldness and annoyance—not anything that could possibly hurt Nathaniel’s feelings, anyways. He knew Riko too well, and neither words nor violence could truly get to him anymore. Nathaniel had become a cold stone, untouchable, an armour of self-preservation he’d learned to build through the years.

“I fainted,” he gritted in half-defiance, though he didn’t remember passing out. Those were the nurses’ explanations, which he’d stopped listening to when they’d started talking about _taking it easy_ and _getting enough rest_ because ‘the body couldn’t follow the mind’ if he didn’t indulge any. 

Kevin nodded grimly through the obvious, and Riko’s question suddenly felt stupid. Both had been there when Nathaniel had slipped into unconsciousness, and both had been there when team nurses ushered on the court after Kevin had hauled Nathaniel’s dead-still body in his cautious arms. He’d dropped him off on a nursery bed and been forced back to practice, though his eyes _had_ lingered above his shoulder. Bitterness had been a terrible yet familiar aftertaste, and Kevin had realized in the same breath how much he cared for him—and how little he was allowed to. It felt wrong in more ways than one, especially when Nathaniel grieved in a loneliness he himself didn’t seem to realise. Ravens couldn’t afford indulgence, rest or pity, and they certainly couldn’t afford grief.

The only way was to see things the same way Tetsuji did: they’d already lost one dangerously useful player, and the Ravens lineup would suffer enough as it is—nobody needed Nathaniel to ramp down, and certainly not with championships soon approaching. As far as Ravens went, Jean’s death was a technical inconvenience with a deplorable timing.

Nathaniel couldn’t bear it—none of it. Jean being reduced to his number, to his position on the team, to the amount of efforts he’d always been willing to give in exchange of nothing. Not safety, not affection, and certainly not respect. People had gone around pushing him to his limits since day one, and there’d only been Nathaniel to pick up the pieces afterwards. He’d watched from afar at first, teaming up with Jean against his own will—and then— _then_ something had changed and none of them had really noticed. It wasn’t about the Ravens anymore, or the pairs, or the synchrony: it was about Jean, and from then on, it never stopped being about Jean.

Breathing without Jean around felt like a terrible effort, one he wasn’t sure he was physically capable of. Nathaniel Wesninski could play Exy with up to three broken ribs a concussion, through sickness and colds, the lonely days when he missed his mother, and Riko’s most ruthless beatings—but if there was one thing he might not stomach, it was losing Jean.

“Kevin will update you on everything you missed,” Riko growled, and it sounded like menace. 

He walked away to the locker room, following the herd of Ravens exhaustedly ushering to the showers; but Kevin stayed behind, and he watched every single teammate and coach pass and disappear until they were unquestioningly alone. Then and only then he turned his attention to Nathaniel.

“Don’t do this again.” It was an order yet not completely, and it was easy for Nathaniel to see through the coldness of it. He had a long practice in decoding Kevin’s distant emotions when they directed at him, but an even longer practice in ignoring Kevin anyways.

“You say that like I had any say in this,” he snapped, and somehow it was more than the passing out. It was Jean, and Kevin felt it—the violence of his eyes and the unforgivingness of his voice were unmistakable. 

“You do,” he pretended not to see. “You are still there and you are well. If you let your thoughts slow you down like that, you’re good as dead. Nobody needs a dead weight and certainly not a dead Raven.” 

Perhaps Kevin realized his mistake a second too late, because he visibly tensed at his own words and the stern twist of his brows almost imperceptibly shook. It hit Nathaniel like a bullet, and when he flinched, he flinched hard.

“Oh, Kevin,” he sang with a smile that couldn’t mean anything but danger. “Don’t say such things. Don’t you dare say them to my face.” Kevin stood there, agape and confused, knowing fully he’d slipped up and hit a nerve; but he was too far gone to straight up apologize. “You know better, don’t you? You know better. I think you’re quick to forget what can kill a Raven.” 

There weren’t many things, really, that possibly could. They were an unmovable force, a fierce tower of determination and power. If their throne couldn’t be stolen and their faith shaken, if they could endure the harsh practice and the frightening rhythm, then there was only the Moriyamas’ violence left. The Ravens rarely got close to it, and they never did it as thoroughly as Kevin, Nathaniel and Jean had. They weren’t students enrolled at Edgar Allans—before that, they were Moriyama property, exchanged or given for forgiveness and debts, investments that they intended on profiting from as best as they could. This meant they had a say in everything they possibly did, eating, wearing, _breathing_ —from who they befriended to the amount of effort they had to make, everything was an expectation they had to live up to. 

“It was an accident,” Kevin whispered, low enough that it betrayed how shaken he was by his mistake. Nathaniel couldn’t tell if he was talking about his words or about Jean’s death, but he didn’t care. Oh, he really didn’t.

“You think so? I remember pretty clearly how frightened you were, the night Riko almost broke your back in two. Wanna know why, Kevin?” Kevin stared back, livid but fierce, but he didn’t interrupt. Content with the cold silence that proved he was getting to him, Nathaniel’s smile grew wider. It was a terrifying, intimidating thing that reminded him of Nathaniel’s father, and as much as they both hated him, the traces of Nathan Wesninski in his son were undeniable. He was _there_ , showing up like a defence mechanism whenever he felt threatened or angry. There was little Kevin truly was wary of, even less that he really did fear. Riko was the only exception—but Nathaniel’s smile, yes, Nathaniel’s smile followed without a doubt. “That’s because you knew how far he’s capable of going, and how far he’s allowed to go.” 

“I didn’t know he would do _that_ ,” he defended grimly.

“I don’t believe you. And even if I did, do you think it’s enough? Do you think it’s worth the excuse? You’re not one of them,” Nathaniel snapped as he held an accusatory finger towards the lockers where all the Ravens had disappeared. “They can claim ignorance because they don’t know everything and even if they did then they wouldn’t really understand it. You’ve grown up with Riko, Kevin, so who do you think exactly could possibly be in a better position to know the risks?”

Tetsuji’s cruelty was practical and self-directed, an instant and effective profit that showed on the court and in the blind obedience his Ravens showed towards him. Riko’s, however, was sharp-edged and terrifying because it had no limits. There was no goal to it, no milestone he had to reach—it was endless and empty, and it was never inflicted with another intention than hurting. Going over the forgivable edge and killing someone, even on accident, was to be expected. He should have known, Nathaniel thought. He should have known.

“If I really thought Jean was in so much danger, I would have pulled him out of his hands.” 

If Nathaniel’s smile was bloodcurdling, then his laughter was even more terrible. “I’m not sure which of us you’re trying to convince there.” The pause was breathtaking as Kevin braced for violence. “A coward like you, Kevin—pulling my partner from Riko’s grip. Forgive me if such a sight is hardly believable to me.” 

He cackled, cruelly, pain echoing in his every breath—and Kevin could only watch, eyes hurt and guilt, swallowing back the anger to leave room for something more terrible. He held out a hand and gently grabbed Nathaniel’s wrist, with just enough force to beg him to listen. The touch made him shiver, but Nathaniel was quick to respond.

“Kevin,” he smiled. “You would have killed him if he’d asked you to.” 

The way Kevin’s body flinched was impossible to miss—but perhaps was it Nathaniel’s eyes, their sharp blue trading anger for pain, so wet and shiny Kevin wondered if he was crying. Kevin let go of his wrist, and when Nathaniel disappeared in his turn, he thought perhaps he had broken something that couldn’t be fixed.

 


	2. II

It was have been easier, somehow, to pretend Jean had been doomed from the start. Easier to pretend he was weak, easier to pretend it was only a matter of time. But truth is: Jean Moreau was one of the strongest people he’d ever met. He was fierce, an unshakable tower of defiance and bravery, far from Kevin’s anxious silence or Nathaniel’s brutal resistance. Jean simply _was_ , and there was nothing anyone could do about it—not even Riko.

He hadn’t quite beaten the savage out of Jean, not really. He’d been a difficult, stray things from the day he’d stepped into Evermore, and perhaps was it why Nathaniel had allowed himself to trust him. There were fewer things Jean had wanted more than to leave this place after that, but Nathaniel— _Nathaniel_ he did want, terribly, with a passion that tiptoed insanity.

It could only go two ways and they didn’t have much of a choice. Either they hated each other’s guts fiercely or were too detached to really care—either something would click eventually, and they’d benefit from a synchrony that would show on the court. Such an advantage was hard to ignore, especially when the Ravens were such fierce opponents, and many times the pair-based system had been proved to enhance their performance more than any training possibly could. The level of trust between the players, the wordless communication between them, the unquestionable familiarity in their every move was so terrible nobody could ever predict it but them, and Tetsuji had understood so much. It was genius, truly; until synchrony would turn into codependency, and codependency into affection. 

It wasn’t rare to see a Raven getting attached to their counterpart. Usually, in fact, it was the only occurrence of friendship they could ever justify. Most teams were big on gatherings and group harmony, but the Ravens, they were doubled loners, a double-edged knife cutting dangerously close to their fingers: one side perfect synchrony, the other the loneliness it required. Being fully devoted to your partner meant you couldn’t invest your time in anyone else, and truly, Nathaniel had been fine with this. It had taken weeks for Jean to get in, to earn his trust—and when he had, oh, he’d given him everything. The sad is, Nathaniel gave everything back.

It wasn’t something they had shown, much less talked about. They’d thought it didn’t concern anyone but themselves, and though Kevin sometimes lingered with that half-judging, half-curious stare, none of them ever addressed it. They could feel eyes following them everywhere they went, shoulders so close they always brushed, looks so knowing they didn’t even need to talk. It was the astounding proof Tetsuji had needed that his system _worked_ , unbelievably so. 

No, nobody really knew about the smiles and the kisses and the softness. It was a secret worth keeping, the weight of a world divided in two, or perhaps the contrary.

Nathaniel recognized the familiar burn in his eyes as his vision blurred a little. He wasn’t one to cry, tears only rolling down when Riko would go too far, but these days, he couldn’t bring himself to stare at anything for more than a minute. His thoughts would linger, and where his thoughts would linger, his body would react the only way he knew how—violence. There was never anyone around, and he was too numb to leave the edge of his bed and punch the wall through. Consequently, there wasn’t much to do but clench his jaw and grit his teeth, swallowing back anger and anger and pain, trying to ignore the cold in his fingertips. 

“Fuck,” he whispered as he looked at the ceiling. He had to distract himself or the tears would flow, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” he yelled, and somehow he hoped Jean could hear it. It’d be enough of a relief to know that Jean would know, one last time, how unbelievably hard Nathaniel hated him.

Except he didn’t hate him even a second, and they both knew that.

Jean’s mocking laughter echoed somewhere in his head, and he breathed so deep it hurt his chest. 

***

Kevin and him made the joint effort of ignoring each other after their conversation. They were okay with that, both from being used to it and not wanting to talk it through. Nathaniel wasn’t ready, nor was he willing to listen to anything Kevin had to say, and Kevin himself hadn’t yet figured out the right words. They gathered around Riko like two hands of the same body, one on each side, and they didn’t really think it necessary to acknowledge each other’s existence.

It was never Kevin who apologized first. His arrogance was bottomless where Nathaniel’s was only shallow, and Kevin would always make a point for him to learn his lesson by himself. This made arguments between them incredibly intricate, and most of the time, Riko forced them to reconcile with all but generosity. It was practical and self-directed, like most things Riko did, but it worked.

He didn’t bother this time—and it turned out he didn’t need to. When practice was done and they’d discussed regression and improvements, all Ravens scattered in the changing room, and Kevin absentmindedly took his time. It was no accident, though Nathaniel was too absorbed by his own grief to even notice, and by the time most of them were already gone, Kevin was sitting on the bench on opposite sides of him.

Silence wasn’t quite there, conversations muffled by the showers and lockers being slammed shut in other rows, but it was enough that Kevin let out a desperate sigh. It wasn’t really exhaustion, and it wasn’t annoyance, either; perhaps more of asking for permission than stating something. Nathaniel moved his head ever so slightly, just enough to prove acknowledgement, though when he spotted Kevin in a side glance he instantly reverted his interest back to his clean socks. He brought a knee to his chest as he slipped his foot down, pulling on the fabric with visceral effectiveness.

Kevin instantly noticed he was speeding up the process, all too willing to disappear far, far away from him.

“Nathaniel,” he said, but he got no answer.

“Nathaniel,” he tried a little louder, because perhaps he hadn’t heard.

“Nathaniel,” he insisted, and this time he put a careful hand on his shoulder.

It was rare Nathaniel would ever let people touch him, and the last one who could ever do that without asking had been Jean. The mindless privilege was astounding and always earned numerous looks from other Ravens, curious of that closeness he accepted as opposed to his open hostility for the rest of them. Kevin was no exception, no matter how much he admired him and how protective Kevin could be in return. Both had clashing personalities and opposite positions on the court, and Kevin sometimes figured it was the gap that would always keep him a little farther to him than Jean had been.

Nathaniel lingered on the hand, but he shrugged it off almost instantly. “Fuck off,” he sighed, and it no violence in it—exhaustion only.

Kevin laced his fingers and rested his elbows on his knees, looking hard at the ground like he was seriously considering the order. He was about to get up when he frowned, upset, and settled back down the bench with a fleeting determination Nathaniel could easily scare off. It wasn’t that Kevin was weak, or that he was dully fearful and timid; it was that Nathaniel was a little more strong-willed. It made all the difference, especially when Nathaniel would smile and laugh, breaking people in two without an effort, without hands even, a violence so harsh it was hardly understandable. It lied somewhere in his eyes, flames licking whatever weakness people were stupid enough to show, and it made most people considerably afraid.

Kevin wasn’t. He simply gave up too easily when it came to them—a mistake he was tired of making over and over.

“I’m sorry,” he grunted, and it was so unwilling Nathaniel wouldn’t have believed the words if they hadn’t come from Kevin. Kevin never apologized—there was no point in ever assuming he’d fake it. The words had to be honest, and even better, they had to be so raw Kevin had felt the need to let them out. 

He didn’t look at him, but he did straighten, looking at his socked feet like he was making sure they both looked the same. The perk in his interest was distinguishable, and it gave Kevin a little bit of bravery; just enough anyway. It wasn’t acceptance, but it was permission, and it was close enough.

“I’m not going to find excuses. I’m not going to lie for his sake or for yours, either.” The words were enough for Nathaniel to stiffen, and Kevin back-pedalled softly. “What I mean by that is, I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t enough to get to him, even though he’d never heard Kevin apologized. Blankly, almost rudely so, Nathaniel put his sneaker on without a glance for him. “You’ve already said that.” 

The message was limpid and Kevin bit his lip. “He didn’t deserve that.”

“No,” Nathaniel grimly agreed, but it was cold.

“I don’t have the words you want to hear,” Kevin said as he studied the tiled floor. The hurt in his guts wasn’t much from Jean’s death, or from the heavy accusation Nathaniel had given; it was from seeing Nathaniel so _out_ of everything that he sometimes thought Nathaniel had died with him. “We both should have been there when it happened.” 

“Don’t make this my fault,” Nathaniel growled, and he hurriedly reached for his other sneaker before he could lose control of his anger. “I was in the dorm. I was waiting for him,” he said, low in a dangerous whisper. “I was waiting for him.”

“I know,” Kevin said uselessly. 

“ _He_ was with _you_ ,” Nathaniel spat with venom, and he turned around to give Kevin an icy stare that hopefully would scare him off—or, if anything, dissuade him to bother him any longer. He didn’t need that now—he didn’t need to desperately search through his blurry memories for the last time he’d felt Jean’s lips on his. He couldn’t remember. Fuck, he really couldn’t.

The accusation stung just like the first one, but Kevin, if he flinched, made no move to back off. Both accusations were true and they knew it. 

“You told me to go ahead and you told me you’d bring him back. _Fuck_ , Kevin, you were only supposed to put the racquets away. You were supposed to bring him back _to me_.”

“I know,” he repeated, a little louder than last time, and his impatience pierced through. “I didn’t think Riko would come for us and start a fight.” 

“A fight,” Nathaniel snarled sourly. “You should have told me right away. I would have—”

“You would have what,” Kevin cut aggressively. It was that same tone he always used, like a haughty older brother, someone who sincerely thought they knew better. Someone who desperately wanted you to understand. “Taken Riko’s beating in his place? Then he would have killed _you_ ,” Kevin growled as low as he could, in a strained French only them could understand. 

Nathaniel’s French had come close to perfect from talking with Jean every hour of every day, and Kevin had picked enough of it that he could hold a conversation. It made things easier for secrecy, especially if they wanted to discuss homicidal. Riko had gotten away with this because nobody suspected him, oh, he always got away—and both of them knew he hadn’t exactly aimed for senseless death. Riko had gone a bit too far a bit too quickly, and Jean hadn’t been able to take it. That was all.

Riko’s violence wasn’t new to them, it never had been. It was a burden they were willing to bear and sometimes willing to share, even in silence—and the risk that one of them would someday be too weak to get up had always been there, close enough, at arm’s reach. Nathaniel had just never really thought it would Jean. Jean was a survivor—Jean, _Jean was supposed to survive._

“Don’t tell me you kept me out of this to save my life, Kevin, hero complexes don’t suit you and you know it.” Kevin’s face darkened, but he held on. “If you were that righteous, then you would have done something for Jean. But you aren’t—and that’s exactly why you should have come for me.” 

There was a pause, significant enough that Kevin tensed, and Nathaniel swallowed dry. 

“I would have saved him.” His eyes were teary again, and the tightness of his voice was raw grief. He couldn’t explain how horribly he missed Jean, how incredibly hard it was to keep on breathing without him around. They’d shared everything for two for years—and now—now he was alone, and he couldn’t bear it. Jean’s absence was suffocating. “I told him I would. And I meant it.” 

Nathaniel’s eyes were red with anger, and Kevin could clearly see the way his jaw went clenched and unclenched and back again. He was struggling to keep his calm, he could tell, and when he’d snap it wouldn’t be pretty. That Nathaniel even tried to hold back was the proof he didn’t completely hate him, and it was enough to breathe again—even just a little.

Nathaniel got up and frowned, face tight with aggression. He was having a hard time to breathe, and in every trait Kevin found Nathaniel’s father, piercing through to break free. In a low, gut-punching French, Nathaniel smiled: “You know what’s funny? Jean would always tell me how much he admired you. He was so intimately convinced you were… good. He thought you were good.” 

Somehow, Kevin should have figured it out—all the times Nathaniel had been violently angry at him one day and then visibly holding back the next; nothing on this earth could have possibly be enough for Nathaniel to make the effort except for Jean’s intervention. Jean, the stray dog, the untameable child, the gracious and obedient and well-mannered number four, the one who knew Nathaniel’s limits as well as he knew his own—he’d been the only one to ever get to Nathaniel, and he surely would be the last.

Kevin swallowed back a bitter tang of grief at the realization that Jean had been his ally all along. They’d never really talked, much less shared intimacy the way friends do, and Kevin about as much about Jean’s life and backstory than he did strangers’. Still, piecing it all together was numbing, and it made guilt all the way heavier.

“ _Jean_ was good,” he corrected grimly, eyes down.

He didn’t see it coming, and perhaps was it better this way—the punch got him to the mouth instantly, and though he braced himself for further violence, it stopped there. Nathaniel watched in cruel satisfaction as Kevin carefully touched his lower lip and came out with blood. When he looked up, there was no anger; but hurt, oh there was lots of it. He didn’t know who it was directed against, and he didn’t care—Nathaniel slowly shook his head, grabbed the strap of his duffel bag and left.

He thought he could hear Jean’s footsteps behind him, the familiar warmth of his breath against his neck and the ever so quiet snort of mockery—but when he turned around, he was alone.


	3. III

It had never quite been a _gift_. Violence.

It had always been guilt and the painful remembrance of who he was. Traces of his father, lingering in his every breath, the ticklish lull of menace slitting flesh to cut a terrible smile. Memories of a life half shadows, half terror. He knew the weight of a knife all too perfectly, and could swing them around eyes closed—it was like he’d been born for it. Violence.

Somehow, however, and though he’d never quite wondered why, he never found any satisfaction in it. It was there, underneath his skin, and he’d never be able to get rid of it even if he tried—it’d stay with him until the end, the dangerous but necessary weapon of defence. And where Riko thrived in the pleasure of inflicting pain and asking for submission, Nathaniel could only repress or let out, anger raw and throbbing in his clenched fists. 

Riko hurt to laugh, Nathaniel hurt to survive. Perhaps punching Kevin wasn’t going to save him, but it would let him breathe easier still, no matter how heavy the burden of his father’s violence imprinted in his hands could be at the end of the day. He would have chosen violence any day—he knew too well. Everything started and stopped at violence. Bravery, honesty, willpower. Sacrifice. Love. You want to know how _true_ someone really is? Push him to his limits, watch him twitch in pain, spit his blood—tell him how bad it’s going to hurt and he’ll tell you how much he’s willing to bear.

People usually choose selfishness over virtue. Nathaniel couldn’t blame them. Now that Jean was gone—he would do the same. There was no one left worth fighting for. The last bit of Nathaniel’s humanity had left with him.

“Fuck you, Kevin,” he warned without tearing his eyes off the court. It was dimly lit but it was enough, and though it was the middle of the night, Nathaniel was standing in the stands, hands deep in his pockets.

He didn’t quite know what Kevin was doing there or how he’d figured _he_ was there, if he even searched for him at all, and he truly didn’t care. Kevin accepted the words with a grim nod, though Nathaniel wasn’t looking. He didn’t try to get closer, three rows above him, and let his eyes roam around the court as well. It was beautiful and intimidating from up there, but all Nathaniel could see was Jean’s shadow, quiet and murderous, something fierce that have his chills. Jean’s progression had to be one of the most beautiful things Edgar Allan had to witness. He’d become better and better and better, strengths different from his but ever so complimentary, and at some point Nathaniel had been in awe. He’d fallen in love somewhere along the way, though he couldn’t tell what with exactly.

“Can I talk?” Kevin asked after a while. Silence had been necessary, though uncomfortable, and it grew even more so when Nathaniel neatly ignored him. Kevin sighed, looked his feet and up again, and decided to go on anyways. If he didn’t want to listen, then he could just leave. “I’ll take the punch. And I’ll take more if you think it’s going to make you feel better.”

“I don’t want your misplaced pity, Day.” 

Nathaniel calling him with his last name was a petty move, but it was on purpose. He was putting as much distance between them both—and grief, oh he was so overwhelmingly drowning in grief. Kevin could hear it in his voice no matter what words. It was so sickening listening to it that he could barely stand it, much less imagine how devastating it must be, deep inside Nathaniel, where he pushed things so deep nobody would ever come back for them. Anger was then long abandoned, yet never forgotten—dangerously lingering at the surface and never dealt with. 

At Jean’s sides, he’d learned to cope with other things than anger. It had taken months and months of thorough learning, but Jean had softened him in the long run. With every kiss, he’d taken away a little bit of his edge, and with every caress, he’d healed a scar. Now Jean’s fingers were a cold shiver down his back, lingering and unpleasant like the suffocating memory of something terrible. Nathaniel was even harsher and distant now than he’d been before Jean ever came around. He’d closed up so tight nobody could ever open him up again. He’d never let that happen.

He licked and bit his lip as the thought of Jean. Jean, who rarely ever smiled, Jean, who rarely ever confessed. Jean, whose arrogance was as terrible as his beauty, Jean, who somehow always seemed to know. Jean the starless sky, Jean, the warmth in the night. Jean who smelled like home. Jean everywhere, Jean as soft as kisses, Jean against his heart and never letting go.

_Jean was a sleepless night and the sun was never rising again._

“I’m not forgiving you, if that’s what you’re asking for.” Nathaniel’s calm was a fierce shiver. He was there, unmoving, capable of watching the court until morning came. He’d done this before. “Ever.”

Kevin swallowed hard. It was painful watching him push him away, but it was understandable, and Kevin wasn’t sure what hurt most between the crushing guilt and the helplessness. He wanted to heal Nathaniel’s every wound, he wanted to take Jean’s place, make sure he’d never be alone—he wanted to fill the endless gap he’d left as he’d disappeared. One of the consequences of the pair-based system was distress, a mad kind of distress: Nathaniel with his partner was terrifying, Nathaniel without him was devastated. He was ruins. He was lost.

Kevin could tell how many panic attacks he’d have, how many sleepless nights. He knew that all too well, even with Riko at his sides, possessive and tightening his grip with the days. He was willing to deal with Riko’s bad sides if it meant Riko stayed— _that_ was how codependent pairs would become. He tried to imagine a word without Riko to guide and punish him, a world of free will and loneliness, and he felt sick.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” Kevin said, because he knew Nathaniel would never forgive him.

“Then what are you asking for?”

“I don’t know,” Kevin said quite honestly. 

Nathaniel kept his eyes on the court, but Kevin could tell he was getting fidgety. He didn’t really know if it was a good sign, way too use to Nathaniel’s dangerous calm, his piercing stare and observations, a boy so clever he could dig secrets with his bare hands. He’d choke a heart with sharpened fangs.

“I don’t want your help, and I don’t need it,” Nathaniel dismissed. 

His voice was unexpectedly light, like anger was buried too deep to burst out now. Kevin didn’t plan on pushing him to the edge, so he figured that was a good thing.

He was about to speak up, lips apart, when Nathaniel’s voice echoed in the empty stadium. He jumped at the echo of it, startled that Nathaniel would ever bother.

“I miss him,” he said, and Kevin swallowed again. The pain in his voice was deafening. He’d seen Nathaniel spitting blood, he’d seen him on the ground crawling for life, he’d seen him taken apart on a mattress with blades and horrors, he’d seen Nathaniel beg for more with a red smile that refused to give up. He’d also seen him stand down to spare Jean a few blows, he’d seen him swallow back his pride to make sure Jean would see another day, and ask Riko for violence if it meant Jean would be saved.

Never, ever had he seen Nathaniel cry out with a pain that wasn’t all teeth and flesh and bruise. It all came from the inside, whines stuck in his throat and imprisoned. It was terrible, heartbreaking even, for a boy who could handle pain without blinking to be broken in half without a blade. The violence was invisible, but he could feel the sorrow in the air between them, choking him, suffocating with the weight of devotion.

Nathaniel would probably never be whole again.

“I know,” Kevin said. He couldn’t understand, not really—Riko was still there—but perhaps was there nobody but him to try. 

He braced himself for violence like he’d always do. Anything would do—he’d let him. He deserved every bit of his anger, even the ruthless ones. It couldn’t make up for Jean’s death, and he could never replace him, but he could make things a little less unbearable for him. _Fuck_ , he loved Nathaniel so much it was dizzying, and he loathed himself for letting that happen even more than he loathed himself for the rest.

Nathaniel half-turned, his stunning profile appearing above his shoulder. He was in sweats and his hair was messy, but Kevin could tell he hadn’t slept. He could tell he wouldn’t sleep tonight at all. There, where Nathaniel was staring back at him without an ounce of fury, his eyes were burning with exhaustion and grief, red and shiny with the dangerous need to cry. 

Oh, he couldn’t stop. He could never stop. For a boy who never cried, it was astonishing as it was terrible. He couldn’t help but think about all the ways Jean would have pushed the tears away, wiping them with a warm thumb and kissing the sorrow away. How ironic.

“I know,” Kevin repeated, a little more gentle, when Nathaniel didn’t turn back around. He held his gaze bravely, determined not to look away or back off—and Nathaniel didn’t really ask him to. He would have lingered on the miracle if he wasn’t already lingering in the bloodshot eyes, and Nathaniel looked _broken_. Broken like china that’d be treated roughly, broken like a neglected bond, broken like a heart that would never heal. The pieces were innumerable and minuscule he could never be fixed.

Eventually, Nathaniel turned fully to face him. He had to hold his chin up from the three rows down, but Kevin still found him intimidating enough that he frowned. It didn’t matter that Kevin was way taller, way stronger or way older; there was something unsettling about Nathaniel Wesninski, and he’d never quite figured out what.

“I can leave,” Kevin offered, because it felt wrong watching Nathaniel raw with grief. It was like prying, like spying—peeping when unasked to, stealing bits of privacy he wasn’t allowed to take. 

“Don’t,” he countered. It didn’t sound like an order, surprisingly, but Kevin obeyed nonetheless. He found himself willingly wanting to stay, perhaps to try and soften the edge of Nathaniel’s buzzing loneliness. It was a hard thing to do, especially for a boy like that—but he was caring enough to try. Oh, that’d surely be a bumpy road: Kevin was rigid and stern, living just to survive, weighing emotions one after the another only to see they’d all be more devastating than the other. Compassion wasn’t something he had much experience in, but he seemed appropriate, and he took a quiet minute to share his grief.

He tried to remember Jean’s face, but the souvenir was already fading. It was frightening how quick people could forget—things and faces they’d seen countless times, day after day, that perhaps they’d learned to love or fiercely loathed. In the end, there was nothing but emptiness. It was dizzying, and Kevin quietly hoped he’d never have to lose Riko.

Tentatively, Kevin stepped down a little closer, one row at a time. He watched closely for the first signs of disapproval or hostility, but Nathaniel was paralysed. He couldn’t recall a time he’d seen him this collected, this frighteningly apathetic. 

“What would Jean do?” He asked he stopped on the same row. Face to face, it was easier—Nathaniel was smaller, and from up close he was familiar enough to be less intimidating. Kevin’s eyes lingered on the tattooed cheekbone before drifting back to his gaze, scrutinising for a hint his question would be badly received. For a moment he thought Nathaniel would forbid him to ever pronounce Jean’s name, and perhaps he would have obeyed—but Nathaniel did not.

“What?” He simply answered, visibly confused.

“What would he do, if he’d found you like this.” Kevin made no move to explain it any further, but his eyes were visibly examining Nathaniel’s, and they were so red it was obvious he had cried. Far worse was being kept on the edge of constant weeping—vision blurred with pain but never quite pushing through. It was numbing and exhausting, holding the weight of grief like that without ever being able to grow out of it. At least crying would tire to the bone and make sore eyelids too heavy for awakening; being stuck between apathy and vivid desolation had to be nauseating. 

‘Like this’ wasn’t exactly something complementing, and Kevin noticed he’d scratched his neck raw, flesh so red and burned it had to hurt still. Nathaniel took advantage of the distraction to stare back, examining Kevin’s pretty face for traces of guilt, of honesty, of anything.

“He’d kiss me,” Nathaniel said. He didn’t mind sharing that bit of secrecy, it wasn’t like Jean was here to take the brunt of it anymore. There were no longer Nathaniel and Jean’s secrets, only Nathaniel’s. It was a saddening thought, but it made him lighter at least. “He’d tell me nobody can change what’s happened now that it’s done. And then he’d kiss me.” 

Kevin looked down, brows furrowing a bit too quick at the words. Nobody had ever known about _that_ , though somehow, it had been obvious for a long, long time. The way Ravens stared would have been enough of a clue, and _Kevin_ stared too, and so did Riko, and Tetsuji, and now that Kevin thought about it, it made sense. Everything made sense. 

“I didn’t know that,” he said, and Nathaniel didn’t need to ask to know what he was talking about.

He didn’t look away—Nathaniel was many things, but shameful had never been one of them. He’d be himself until the end, and he’d never been more himself than with Jean. It left a bitter aftertaste in his throat, like the impression that, somehow, he’d never be himself again. Perhaps had Jean taken a bit of him with gentle fingers, keeping it with him for the elsewhere; or perhaps was it Nathaniel’s sheer inability to be more of himself and less than his father without Jean’s anchor. 

“Nobody did,” he flatly added. He didn’t really care what people did or did not know, but that much Kevin knew perfectly.

He watched as Kevin took a deep breath, eyes glued to the floor like he was making an insanely difficult decision. Nathaniel frowned but didn’t talk, didn’t look away either, alert and careful as he always was, ready to choke Kevin senseless or run away if ever needed. Those weren’t reassuring thoughts, but that’s what Nathaniel was—a runaway, a survivor, choosing either violence or avoidance, two extremes of one being. He was one and the other, both at the same time. A beautiful paradox with pretty eyes and bloody knuckles.

When Kevin looked up, he felt a little sick. Kevin breathed again, picking up the crumbs of what was left of his bravery, and then he gently cupped Nathaniel’s face. He thought this could turn out really bad, with hands around his throat and lips spitting horrors, but it didn’t. Nathaniel only stared back, distrusting but patient, waiting to see what he was trying to do. He did tense underneath Kevin’s callous palms, but he made no move to pull out of his gentle grip, so Kevin swallowed and braced himself.

He didn’t smile—that wouldn’t be him, and Nathaniel would never buy into it. “Listen to me then, Nathaniel.” He stopped there, and Nathaniel eventually understood: he nodded slowly, wary but obedient. “Nobody can change what’s happened now that it’s done.” 

He saw the slightest clench of Nathaniel’s jaw, brows knotted fierce and tight, Nathaniel’s Adam apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed. There was no mistaking what Kevin did next, but somehow he was too numb to push him away.

Kevin hadn’t done this, not really. He’d done this once with Riko, when they were younger—to try and see what the fuss was about. They hadn’t been convinced, so Kevin had never really felt the need to reiterate until some Raven girl and him snuck out in the gear room and shared a chaste kiss. What started as a peck turned into sloppy French kissing, but neither of them had minded. The experiment ended there, and they never talked about it.

It was hard to grow up with mundane things when stuck in the depths of Evermore’s labyrinth. Kevin didn’t really mind that much—he liked Exy and he liked Nathaniel and it was a comfortable way to live—space and money and fame and talent. He thrived among the best and he couldn’t picture it anywhere else.

Still, he felt unexpectedly timid with shame as he leaned in, tentatively putting his lips to Nathaniel’s. They didn’t really move, Kevin testing his patience to see if violence would come—and he tensed, thinking perhaps that would be the last thing he ever did. Nathaniel wasn’t one to measure his violence, and he’d just as easily as Riko kill someone on an accident, bare hands and teeth displayed for the sake of it.

But Nathaniel let him, breath somehow caught in his throat—and he opened his lips ever so slightly, moving around Kevin’s like it was a natural thing to do. He slid his hands out of his pockets and put them on top of Kevin’s—then slid them down Kevin’s bare arms and up his neck. He felt Kevin tense at the possibility of being choked, but Nathaniel only rested gentle fingers on the skin. Kevin shivered—he’d never been touched by Nathaniel without violence or hostility; the softness of the touch was disorienting and dizzying, and it felt like meeting someone he’d never seen before.

Their lips parted again, searching for each other’s, and Nathaniel let a tongue slide. He felt Kevin tense again, but reassured him with a brush of his thumbs against his throat—and then Kevin’s tongue was against his, innocent and warm, an unsuspected swarm of bubbles down his stomach. They didn’t rush, and they didn’t slow down, either. It felt like dancing, perhaps, a wordless dialogue between two boys who didn’t know how to talk. 

When they parted, Kevin’s cheeks were pink and his brows knotted in embarrassment, but Nathaniel looked the same. It wasn’t new to him, though Kevin’s taste was foreign on his lips, and he licked them absentmindedly.

“What was that for?” He asked. It held no fury; it was blank curiosity, like asking for the time.

Kevin shrugged, forcing himself to let go of Nathaniel’s soft cheeks to dig his hands into his sweatpants’ pockets. He fidgeted nervously, anxiety twisting his every thought. He was uncomfortable, but not to the point of wanting to leave, and maybe that’s where the problem lied. 

“Jean,” he replied. “We didn’t talk much, him and I,” he admitted, and Nathaniel couldn’t see where he was going with this, or why he’d bring Jean up after kissing up—snapping back to reality felt brutal and he frowned. Kevin knew he’d close up instantly, so he went on before he could. “But we did have that talk, once. About you, somehow. I didn’t realize it then but it was always about you.” He shrugged, like that was no big deal, like missing Jean didn’t make him sick to the stomach. “He told me you were stronger than you gave yourself credit for, and that he thought you’d survive anything. I asked him if he thought he’d survive anything, too, and he told me he’d never been too good at staying alive.”

Nathaniel thought that incredibly stupid—Jean was a survivor. He was strong and he’d fought and fought and fought. And even when he’d lost, Jean was still stronger than the rest. That he knew.

“Just cut it,” he lost his impatience, lips numb with the ghost of Kevin’s. He could tell with the way Kevin rubbed his that he was thinking about it, too. 

“He said he didn’t know if he’d make it out of here, and he asked me to watch over you instead.” 

At the words, Nathaniel felt a punch through his chest. Jean had never really planned on making it out alive from Evermore, and he’d asked Kevin to look after him. It was so subtly Jean like that he could have smiled, but the sickening and ironical necessity of Jean’s request numbed him before he could. 

“I said I would.”

“You don’t know how to take care of anyone,” Nathaniel snarled, a bit too coldly.

Kevin fidgeted but didn’t dig his heels in. “That’s what I told him.” After a pause, he sighed. “He told me to do what he would do. So I asked you.” 

Nathaniel swallowed the grief back down. He missed Jean so terribly it was unbearable, but talking about him felt like he was somehow still there. He imagined the two of them talking about him, planning secretly all the ways they could assure his well-being if tragedy was to happen. Perhaps was that why Kevin handled Jean’s death so well: he’d already prepared himself for the possibility of it happening. Maybe he’d even played countless scenarii in his head, wondering what might ease Nathaniel’s sorrow. It was overwhelming, thinking about Jean caring so much about him that he’d felt the need to make sure he’d be okay—thinking about Jean being so brutally clear-headed he’d somehow come to terms with the fact he might get out alive. 

It meant every kiss he’d ever given Nathaniel could have been the last, and the intensity of each of them had been numbing every time. Each caress, each breath, each word, each embrace, each time lips mindlessly brushed against a bare shoulder or a scar—it was Jean thanking him, Jean telling him _I love you, don’t miss me_ and saying goodbye _just in case_. 

He didn’t realize his eyes had gone wet until he couldn’t see Kevin anymore. 

“What do you want?” Kevin asked, almost clinically, with a familiar detachment that never quite left Kevin’s voice. 

He couldn’t find his voice to talk as he choked back a sob, so he blindly searched for Kevin’s arms—and pulled, not too gently, but far from being rough either—and he ran numb hands down his arms to grab his palms and rest them on his own face like he had before. 

The warmth felt comforting, somehow, and Nathaniel closed his eyes. As soon as he did, the blurry vision turned into obscurity, and the water accumulating turned into tears, slowly rolling down his cheeks. He didn’t bother wiping them as they fell, and Kevin obediently kept his hands on his cheeks, so the tears traced a lonely path across his lips and down his neck. Kevin watched as each of them silently rolled down, Nathaniel so still under his hands he could just have been asleep. He didn’t open his eyes and he didn’t talk. He knew his quiet weeping would turn into violent sobs as soon as he’d try. 

They stayed like that for quite some time, Kevin learning how to be patient, and Nathaniel learning how to let someone close. They were doing a stunning job, much to their surprise, and eventually Nathaniel felt collected enough to open his eyes. He couldn’t see much but Kevin’s blurry outline, but the hands on his face were enough. 

“Kiss me again,” he said quietly, with a broken voice that fought hard to sound harsh.

Kevin didn’t move at first, and Nathaniel couldn’t see his face—but eventually his hands slid down to his wet neck and he leaned in for another kiss. It wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t gentle, either, and Kevin lost himself in it. It last an eternity perhaps, much longer than it should have—but filling the gaps with each other was so sickeningly comforting they couldn’t part. 

He wasn’t sure who pulled away first, but he still whispered: “I still hate you.” Kevin knew that much. Nathaniel would never forgive him for that, for standing down and letting Riko do what he’d done. Deep down Nathaniel hated him even more because he knew Kevin would have done something if it’d been him in Jean’s stead. It made his blood pump with anger and his head dizzy, but tonight, he wasn’t going to linger on it. 

Kevin wasn’t asking for forgiveness and that was the most important. 

He wasn’t sure who leaned in for another kiss, either. He lost track after this one—and though he thought he’d heard Jean’s mocking laughter in his back, he figured he might be okay someday.


End file.
